


i exist i exist i exist

by orphan_account



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Eating Disorders, Gen, Mental Instability, POV Second Person, Post-Pacifist Route, Self-Harm, Sharing a Body, losing touch with reality, referenced character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-08-31 05:23:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8565655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: You look at your rotten hands, you’re going to drown and you -You can’t feel anything.





	

**Author's Note:**

> ///// stress writing

 

You stand in black water and look at the mirror. It’s too far away, you can’t reach there.

The water is up to your knees, your feet are numb and sinking in the mud, and you can’t move, it’s too cold now. There’s something in your hands, you’re trembling, don’t dare to look.

You call for help.

 

* * *

 

The kitchen is warm.

It’s colourful, green and red and gold, bright despite it already being dark outside. If you lean over a bit, you can see the lights from here; looking out the window, blue dots around the bare lilac bushes, shining against the white that keeps falling to the ground.

You sit at the table.

Even mum is warm. She has kind eyes and a kind smile and she smells like cinnamon and butterscotch and gingerbread. Right now, she has a pink apron and she’s humming something quietly as she works, fills up the silence with her soft voice, and flour sticks to her fur.

You sit at the table and time stands still.

(You look at her and the colours and the dough she keeps turning over, and realize.

You’re cold. You’re cold like the snow and you’re freezing, hunched in on yourself in too big clothes and blue fingernails. You don’t belong in this house.)

Mum turns to take the fresh pie from the oven and cuts you a piece, looks at you playfully. ”The other’s won’t mind if we taste it first,” she says.

_Don’t eat that._

Her smile falls when you don’t take the plate, just a bit. She puts it away and wipes her paws on the apron.

Neither of you says anything.

 

* * *

 

It’s quiet.

You try to drag yourself through the thick mud, uselessly, until your feet ache; try to shout to no one, your voice coming out all wrong, like it belongs to someone else, rough and raspy.

The mirror looks even more distant than before. There’s something in your hands and the water rises.

Up to your thighs, now.

 

* * *

 

The living room comes alive.

People flooding in with loud voices and beaming faces, clothes damp from the snow; glittering presents with _red and gold and green and blue_ and fancy suits. Asgore pats the top of your head and compliments you on how well you have decorated the tree, and mum looks at you as a reminder that you need to say ”thank you”.

Everyone settles down. You listen to the chatter that doesn’t sound like anything after a while, and the bright laughter that rings in your ears, too loud and too much, and you feel heavy.

In that moment, you are watching a play, a scene from a movie; you are an outsider, a narrator in a book about a happy family and happy people, and you are not here. You don’t want to be here.

Someone offers you a piece from a big chocolate box. There’s a short, awkward silence when you say no, and you know they’re all looking at your bony fingers, they’re looking at your pale face and dead eyes and they feel pity. Mum looks sad.

_I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate all of you -_

_Shut up._ Your head hurts. _Shut up._

 

* * *

 

Black thoughts and black hearts and black blood, black water holding your waist, pulling you deeper and further away.

You look at your rotten hands, you’re going to drown and you -

You _can’t feel anything._

 

* * *

 

It stings in the shower.

You’ve turned the setting to scalding hot and stay still, let it hit your back and watch the steam rise to the ceiling. You think about dust and spreading across the caves in Waterfall, your essence living on forever alone in the snow or at the end of the Ruins. You think about your own intestines staining the floor of the corridor.

Your arm drips red and nothing feels real.

 

* * *

 

Black water seeping through your bones.

_Despite everything, it's still -_

You’re disappearing.

 

* * *

 

The knife shakes. Someone’s crying.

”Am I alive?”

Mum smells like cinnamon and butterscotch and warmth and home.

 

 

 


End file.
